Never Again
by A Voice in the Desert
Summary: He knew now that he couldn't afford peace; he needed passion. He had no time for serenity; he demanded chaos. Knowledge was useful only if it led to strength. Strength to victory. Victory to freedom. Set immediately after their return from Malachor, Ezra considers the Sith holocron and the knowledge contained within. Ezra-centric. Mentions of Kanera.
**A/N: First off, I loved the SWR Finale – incredible detail and a strong, meaningful conclusion. I would've liked to see more of Hera, Sabine and Zeb, but it quickly became clear that this was about Ezra, Ahsoka and Kanan – more so than even Maul or Vader. Without this devolving into a lengthy discussion, I'll just say that the interplay between different philosophies of the Force – Jedi, Sith, and Ahsoka's "gray" – has the potential to be incredibly compelling if the show chooses to explore it further. Hopefully they do. Anyways, I'll shut up and let you get to the story. Thanks for reading!**

 **Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I don't own. Disney owns Star Wars. I do this purely for my own enjoyment (and hopefully yours).**

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 **Never Again**

 _By: A Voice in the Desert_

 _"The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural." – Senator Palpatine to Anakin Skywalker_

 _Peace is a lie, there is only passion._

Ezra wouldn't forgive himself. Not now, not ever. The raw anguish in Hera's eyes as she tenderly ran her fingers over Kanan's scarred face, gingerly lifting the makeshift bandage and gazing into his now milky orbs, would haunt him for the rest of his life. The eyes that would never again see her love and devotion were dead. She clutched him fiercely, hiding tears he could no longer see.

After they'd disembarked, it hadn't taken long for Zeb, Sabine and Rex to surround the pair with comforting words and empty platitudes. But all Ezra could see were Rex's eyes. They held the pain of wars fought and brothers lost. They spoke of a knowledge of death and an understanding of evil. The lucky ones died in battle and were remembered as heroes. The less fortunate returned home, scarred and broken, to loved ones who bore the strain until they too cracked and shattered, with no one to pick up their pieces.

Later that night, when everyone finally returned to the _Ghost_ , Ezra took a silent vow that he would never let a tragedy like this happen again. He alone was uniquely suited to protect his adopted family: his training in the Force and upbringing on the streets of Lothal had taught him how to survive. If they were hungry, he could find food. If they needed credits, he could spot an easy mark. If they needed protection, he could wield a lightsaber. If they needed his life, he would give it.

As he sat alone in his room, his sole focus was making sure it truly was enough – that he was enough. It didn't matter how it came to be, it just mattered that he was. And Ezra resolved to do whatever it took. He would find strength where others dared not look.

Reaching into his vest's pocket, Ezra withdrew the ancient Sith holocron – the seemingly benign artifact that had cost his master his sight. It drew his eyes and focused his mind. He couldn't look away.

 _Through passion, I gain strength._

He'd been lax – he'd taken his training too lightly, and he hadn't been strong enough. Maul's honeyed words and promises of salvation…a cold laugh bubbled from his throat. It was darkly ironic; he'd gained knowledge. Knowledge that he was inadequate. That everything he'd done, every technique he'd learned and precept he'd mastered was insufficient. Maul. Vader. The Inquisitors. The names changed but the outcome remained. He needed more. He needed to be sure he could protect his family. He needed to know that he had done everything in his power to make sure they were never in this situation again.

Zeb alone at the dejarik table, a half empty bottle of Corellian brandy beside him. Sabine lost in her room, drawing harsh lines on an empty canvas. Chopper, abandoned on the bridge, charging in silence.

The only members of the crew that weren't alone were Kanan and Hera. The olive-skinned Twi'lek had refused to leave her lover's side since the _Phantom_ returned. Ezra had seen them disappear into her bedroom hours ago, her arm never leaving his waist, his empty stare never leaving the ground.

There was a burning deep in his chest. On one hand, he envied the love and devotion they had for each other. On the other, he loathed that his weakness had created a world in which the two most important people in his life would never be the same. If he was ever fortunate enough to have someone like Hera, he knew he would stop at nothing to protect her. No matter how capable she was, no matter how well armed, he would be the first line of defense. His responsibility – first and foremost – was to protect her: heart, mind, soul and body. And if it cost him his own, so be it.

He turned the holocron over, running his fingers over its runes, the hard lines and sharp angles. It warmed to his touch and Ezra could feel the Sith stir within, its desire and desperation – the latent influence of the master whose knowledge it possessed.

 _Through strength, I gain power._

Ezra drove his anger and determination into the far reaches of his mind until it barely flickered on the edge of his consciousness, ready to be recalled at a moment's notice. That would be his motivation, the strength that would sustain him in the long nights and empty days ahead. Ezra wouldn't fool himself. Their family would never be the same. Kanan would never again see Hera's brilliant smile, Sabine's artwork or Zeb's wizardry with the bo-rifle. The red-gold of Lothal's sunset? Nothing but a memory. The twisting nether of hyperspace? A figment of his imagination. Everything had changed.

These thoughts tumbled through Ezra in an instant as he struggled to secure his mind against their attack. When he finally succeeded, it wasn't by shutting himself down or retreating from reality, but by embracing the purity of his despair. Only then, in and amongst his brokenness, could he begin to see a path to healing. Healing that came from action, not forgiveness. Reconciliation forged through the iron crucible of his resolve and the refining fires of his newfound purpose.

Ezra's evolution, his metamorphosis, would not come through Jedi trials or a Sith apprenticeship, but through a maturation in the Force. Only then would he have the power to resist temptation and guard against hardship. Only then would he have the foresight stop threats before they became a reality. Only then would he have the power to provide his loved ones with the security they rightly deserved.

He needed to be stronger, and the holocron seemed to agree. He felt it calling out through the Force, humming in resonance with his desires. The black, sickly influence of the Sith, perverting everything it touched. Ezra shivered against the encroaching darkness, fearing its influence but embracing its necessity.

 _Through power, I gain victory._

But in the end, would it be enough? Planets fell to the Empire's onslaught every day. The wealthy lost fortunes on the whims of global markets; politicians and leaders became powerless in the face of well-shaped lies or careless indiscretions.

It wasn't enough to solely be a Jedi: his failure was evidence of that. It wasn't enough to simply reject the Jedi: Vader had defeated Ahsoka just as he had Ezra. In fact, even the Jedi's teachings seemed questionable. The failings of the Order and her old master had driven Ahsoka from the temple's hallowed halls and brought her to a place in which she preferred to reject the moniker of Jedi Knight than call it her own.

All that was left, in Ezra's mind, were the Sith. The Sith were powerful – Vader and Maul were evidence of that. But they were missing something. Their single-minded devotion to destruction, their callous acceptance of hate…Ezra knew, instinctively, that those too would fail him. Maul, a pure embodiment of hate, had been stripped of the title "Darth" years ago. Marooned and forgotten on Malachor, he festered for years, his skills atrophied and his anger impotent in the face of his enemies. Vader was no better: a slave, driven by a devotion to cruelty and the dark side. A lapdog of the Emperor, he twisted the galaxy into a perverse amalgamation of his master's vision and his own.

But despite everything, despite the wrongness of the power he could feel calling to him from the holocron, he knew he needed it – a knowledge that the Jedi foolishly rejected. He closed his eyes and reached out with the Force. The visions bombarded him in a merciless onslaught.

 _Through victory, my chains are broken._

The Inquisitors slaughtered. Kanan blinded by Maul. The Sith Lord's yellowed eyes and tattooed skull leering down from above. Hera's brokenness. Sabine's isolation. Zeb's melancholy. Rex's defeat. They stoked his anger, the hatred that lay dormant, until the embers of his soul were white hot. He knew now that he couldn't afford peace; he needed passion. He had no time for serenity; he demanded chaos. Knowledge was useful only if it led to strength. Strength to victory. Victory to freedom.

Ezra wiped the tears, the pain, from his eyes. His decision was made. Never again would he be weak. Never again would his family hurt while he stood idly by. Never again…those words would be tattooed on his soul for all eternity.

The holocron began to grow hot in his hand; glowing, it rose from his palm. Awash in its sickly red light, Ezra saw himself wielding a rose-colored blade as his own.

Then a voice spoke into the silence.

 _The Force shall free me._

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 **For the record, I don't think Ezra will embrace the dark side (and if you see parallels with Anakin here, that was intentional). That said, I don't think he'll be a traditional Jedi either. I see him embracing Ahsoka's "gray" path more than anything else and exploring all aspects of the Force.**

 **Regardless, thanks for reading! Please review!**


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